


a lifetime in repeat

by hoywfiction



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Depression, Huntington's Disease, I'm uploading this late at night and will most likely edit it later, Let me know if you want me to expand this into a longer fic??, M/M, Phan - Freeform, Phan Angst, Phanfiction, Sick Dan, This fic is based on the idea of promoting awareness of Huntington's Disease, This is very sad but ends bittersweet, This tagging sucks but give it a chance ily forever, Tragic Romance, mentions of anorexia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 03:56:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9366962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoywfiction/pseuds/hoywfiction
Summary: From the corner of his vision Phil saw Dan swallow the lump in his throat, his tongue flickering out over his lips a brief moment before he snapped back from his silence. But his attitude had changed in that fraction of a second, his pretense dropped, and the gravity of what he was about to explain took over the entire room. "Guys, I..." He laughed. "I guess there's no easy way to say it so I'm just going to— I'm dying."





	

"Do you remember this, Dan?"

"Of course I remember it, I'm not losing my memory yet." Dan let his eyes roam around the familiar streets of Manchester, his hands shoved in his pockets and his nose buried in his scarf. He and Phil had been down this way countless times, had countless laughs and memories happen on the pavements they walked on the way home. He sighed, shaking his head slightly and giving his best friend a look of apology before turning away. "I'm just... losing everything else."

He could feel his fingers shaking uncontrollably in his coat, and he curled them into fists in an attempt to get them to stop. Instead his entire hands began to tremble, and he had to fight to keep the tears at bay. The doctors had told him that the tremors were just the beginning, that soon he'd lose control of his body all together. Eventually he wouldn't even be able to hold a glass, walk, talk, breathe. It would all get worse, and then it would end.

He wasn't even sure if deteriorating to his death was the worst part of it, or if it was having Phil beside him the whole time trying so hard to make things better when they couldn't possibly be. On most days he could feel the life fading from his bones, ebbing away like every clouded exhale into the cold winter air. In the past weeks time had become a solid possession that he was constantly losing, able to watch it disappear like sand in a timer falling into a void, never to return.

There was beauty in it, he supposed, if you put it into poetry.

"Is there anything specific you want to do here?" Phil asked without skipping a beat, cheerfulness still in his voice despite having lost it in his eyes days ago. Some days, like today, Dan was willing to pretend he'd never noticed.

"We could go to the juice bar," Dan suggested, thinking back on their usual routines while they'd lived in this city.

"You said you were over that place," Phil said, a hint of a laugh in his words as he glanced over at his best friend.

"I am," he said, smirking, "but I wanna see if they still have that one they named after me."

* * *

 

He never asked him if it was getting better or worse, he guessed he didn't really have to. It was getting worse every minute and neither of them were idiots, they both knew it. Phil smiled gently at his friend as he put his juice back down on the pick up counter, partially spilled and his hand shaking violently as he shoved it back into his coat. So Phil took both drinks to the place by the windows they liked to sit at, putting Dan's down in front of him before taking a seat and sipping from his own.

"Thanks," said Dan before leaning forwards, grabbing the straw between his teeth. He could hardly do anything anymore, Phil thought sadly as he looked out into the streets. He was struggling to hold things steady, he was beginning to have trouble with the stairs, he needed help getting dressed, he couldn't speak properly on some days. And the doctors said it would get worse. How could it get worse than turning a boy in his mid-twenties into a shell of who he was only a year ago?

"Is it like you remembered it?" he said as he snapped himself out of it, plastering a smile to his face and looking at his flatmate. Dan nodded, the same smile reflected on his own lips. Phil dipped his head in reply before continuing to stare out at nothing, the grey scenery of Manchester.

Though he tried not to think about it too often, he knew he'd have to face his first day without Dan sometime in the near future. The idea of it was heartbreaking but by now he was all out of tears to give. He just wished so desperately there was something more he could do, something better than dragging Dan to all the fond locations of his past to relive his life before he didn't have a chance to anymore. Most of the time Dan just seemed annoyed by it all, but Phil knew it wasn't him, not really.

Huntington's disease is a fatal genetic disorder that results in the breakdown of brain cells as time progresses, or at least that was how the doctors had put it. Thanks to Dan hiding the earlier symptoms from everyone for many years now, he'd already gotten to an intermediate phase of the disease before doctors could diagnose it, not that it would matter. There is no cure and very little treatment.

Side effects include intense mood changes, loss of motor control, and eventually death. So, in summary, Phil was watching his best friend die and they would both have to suffer in his last days until then. Not that Phil minded it, as long as he was still here.

"You're doing it again," Dan said out of nowhere, making Phil jump slightly. He looked over at his best friend, expecting him to look angry if his expression matched his tone at all, but instead he was wearing a gentle and sympathetic smile. That was the hardest part about this disease, Phil could never know how he was actually feeling anymore.

"Doing what?" he asked, even though he knew the answer.

"Thinking about what it'll be like when I'm dead." Over at another booth an older gentleman glanced over his shoulder at the two of them, a look of worry etched into his face. Phil gave a small grin over towards him, and the man mouthed an 'I'm sorry' his way before returning to his own business.

"For almost a decade the most important part of my life has been you..." Phil told his flatmate, looking down into his juice and mixing it around with the straw. He looked up at Dan, seeing the curious and hurt look in his eyes before turning away again. "Now I've been told I don't get to have you forever. I can't help it."

Silence stretched on for its own eternity before Dan's voice cut through it, a viciousness in his tone that stabbed straight through Phil's chest. "I don't know why you're so upset, you get to live."

It wasn't him, Phil had to remind himself as he closed his eyes and swallowed down the pain. It was the disease speaking, the disease that spent its days breaking his heart, not his best friend. He breathed out slowly, making sure no tears would show in his eyes before opening them and smiling at Dan. Faking happiness was beginning to come to him far more naturally than he'd ever hoped it would these days. "I'm upset because I love you."

His deep brown eyes went round for just a moment before they fell towards the table, a pensive look on his face. "Can we go home?"

Phil stood at the words, more than willing to be away from the eyes of the patrons who had began to watch them or obviously listen in on their conversation. "Yeah, of course."

"Phil?" He stopped gathering their belongings, looking towards the younger lad. "Can we stop doing this... reliving the past thing? After today?"

And that right there, that was what heartbreak felt like. Because now that Phil was paying attention he could see it, the way simple actions like getting out of the chair and standing took a toll on Dan. He could see the brunette's knees shaking with every step as they left the juice bar, wincing with some steps where his feet didn't fall right. The end was so close Phil felt as if he could reach out and touch it.

"Phil?" It was the first thing either of them had said since they'd left the shop, now stood on the T platform waiting for a train from Manchester back to London. It was also the first time since they'd found out about Dan's disease that Phil had failed to keep his tears at bay while in front of the other lad.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, sniffling and wiping at his cheeks with his sleeve. But Dan wrapped his arms around him, and the tears came harder as he buried his face into the material of his scarf.

"I'll miss you," Dan said, and though he didn't say it, all Phil could think about was how much he missed him already.

* * *

 

"You're shooting a video?" It was a Tuesday afternoon, and now that he was looking at the dreary weather outside the window, it did seem like a good day for a video. But Dan hadn't made one in two months now, and this seemed out of the blue.

"Yeah," Dan replied, his focus on adjusting everything so it was perfect. He grinned at himself satisfactorily as he sat back on his bed, looking towards his flatmate. "It's, uh... It's my last one."

Phil knew that would have hurt him if he weren't already at his max capacity of emotional pain every single day. So instead of reacting he just nodded, looking around the room before grabbing a chair and sitting out of the frame. "Mind if I stay?"

"I want you to," Dan said, shifting on his bed before patting the space beside him, gently grinning upwards at Phil. "I want the last thing I ever make to be with you."

He wasn't sure if he was still breathing, if he were awake, if this were real. His mind was blank but Phil sat, shoulder-to-shoulder with his friend, wanting nothing more than to just lay his heavy head on his shoulder. With a trembling finger Dan hit the record button on the camera and sat back where he'd been, resting his hands in his lap.

"Hello Internet," he said, though he said it in a softer way than usual. The look on his face gave away that there was something wrong before a word from his mouth could even hint at it. Phil gave a weary smile towards the lens before turning his eyes towards the floor, waiting to see where this video would go. "I know, I know; 'Dan! It's been so long.' I know. I'm sorry."

From the corner of his vision Phil saw Dan swallow the lump in his throat, his tongue flickering out over his lips a brief moment before he snapped back from his silence. But his attitude had changed in that fraction of a second, his pretense dropped, and the gravity of what he was about to explain took over the entire room. "Guys, I..." He laughed. "I guess there's no easy way to say it so I'm just going to— I'm dying."

Phil heard the breath that lingered on his lips, that hitched at his own words. As if the reality was hitting him finally, and it wasn't just a cruel joke anymore. But still, when he looked up, the younger lad was smiling. It was fake as fake could be, but it was a smile, bittersweet and meaningful in the most painful of ways. His eyes stared directly into the camera, making eye contact with the millions he knew would see this. "I'm dying, and there's nothing anyone can do about it... I'm sorry."

He stood suddenly, causing Phil to look up in question. Dan laughed again, nervous and riddled with anxiety, but he shrugged. "I feel like I need some tea for this. Coffee?" Phil shook his head. "Keep them entertained, I'll be right back."

It was just Phil and the audience, and the smaller version of himself reflected in the dark of the lens. Even without colour and without detail he could tell that he looked as if he were dying himself. His skin was paler than ever, contrasted by the dark circles around his eyes, and his eyes that fans had once claimed sparkled like star-littered water were nothing but two expressionless voids that took in light and destroyed it. Though it was nothing he hadn’t noticed before, it was hitting him hard now because the people who meant everything to him had to see it.

“I’m sorry… This is harder for you than it is for… almost everyone else. And I’ll talk more about this on my channel, but… he really is dying, and everything feels so wrong—” He was cut off by choking on his own sob, a hand flying over his mouth as he turned his gaze away from the camera. He was broken, broken into so many pieces that he wasn’t sure how much farther he could fall, how much more he could take. But worse, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to put them back together for as long as he lived. He took a deep, shaky breath and swiped under his eyes with his fingers before returning to the task at hand. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll take care of him.”

It was only moments after that while Phil was thinking of what to say next that Dan came back, a mug in his shaky hands as he sat down. He looked so proud to have made a cup of tea all by himself, and on one hand it was endearing, the other soul-crushing. “Right. So back to dying.”

Phil managed to keep it together for the rest of filming, mostly by staring off into space and locking himself inside his own head. Dan explained his disease, how treatment would only prolong the suffering, that eventually his entire brain would just melt away and his body would stop working. He even tossed in a joke about existential crises, but Phil couldn’t find it in his heart to laugh.  He told the fans how special they’d made his past few years, how he didn’t regret a thing, how he’d die happily with knowing he’d made a positive impact on so many lives. But it was the end that ripped the air from Phil’s lungs, that forced him to flee to his own bedroom as soon as the camera was turned off.

In hardly above a whisper, with misted eyes and a sad smile on his lips, Dan said the words nobody wanted to hear: “Goodbye Internet.”

As promised, it was the last video Dan Howell ever made.

* * *

 

Phil had always considered himself lucky as far as health went. He’d never faced any serious medical issues, and his mental health was about average for a man his age. He’d never gone through phases of depression, and though he was socially awkward he’d never had to deal with anxiety of any kind beyond what was considered normal. He was more grateful than ever for that, because if people with poor mental health felt like he did now all the time, he wasn’t even sure how they were making it through their days. Because he sure as hell wasn’t.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” PJ asked as he walked alongside him to Starbucks. He’d been visiting frequently, sometimes to help with Dan or just to provide moral support. Today it was the latter, as Dan’s mom had come to take care of her son for a while and PJ thought it would be a good time to get Phil’s mind off things for a while. Not that it would work, his mind was always racing at a thousand kilometres per hour these days.

“Yeah.” He hadn’t eaten in 48 hours or more, but he was fine. He wasn’t doing it intentionally, it was just that he was never hungry, and the small amount of energy he had went into taking care of his flatmate. In the past few months since his Goodbye Internet video, Dan had only gotten so much worse. He couldn’t climb the stairs anymore on his own, he could barely walk, he needed help eating and drinking. He was fading so fast but somehow every day dragged on. It was like time had slowed down, but Dan hadn’t.

“Phil, you’re not.” PJ stopped walking, narrowing his vividly blue-green eyes at his friend, and Phil had to stop to he supposed. Weird spots kept dancing across his vision at random as he stood there, he felt wobbly on his feet, and suddenly PJ was on his phone calling for a lift. He didn’t ask where they were going, and when they ended up at a hospital, he didn’t say a word.

He didn’t object as doctors examined him, his tired eyes focused on the peeling paint of the white walls. Even as they explained to him that he was malnourished and dangerously thin, he only nodded, let them prick him with needles and command him to stay in bed. PJ didn’t speak either, just sat in a nearby chair and switched between watching Phil to staring down at his phone, typing. Probably to Mrs. Howell, Phil assumed.

Even though he felt better by the time they let him go that night, under PJ’s word that he’d look after him and make sure he ate regularly, he still didn’t talk. He just laid on the sofa, silently grateful as PJ made him some coffee and fixed him a bowl of dry cereal (Dan’s, of course) before putting on TV. If he were to describe his life right now, he thought as PJ put a blanket over him like a mother to an ill child, it would be that feeling of waking up after sleeping for too long. Everything’s hazy and there’s a constant ache at the back of your head that just won’t go away, no matter how many times you rub your bleary eyes. He wished he could just stay asleep forever so he wouldn’t have to face it, but unfortunately, life just didn’t work that way.

* * *

 

PJ left a little over two weeks later, as Dan got worse. And Phil understood, because while Phil was already used to seeing his best friend fall apart, PJ wasn’t.

It was a new year now, but there was nothing pleasant about that. Dan needed help with practically everything, and though he could still leave his bed, he wasn’t very good at doing so alone. The worst part, for Dan, was what they called chorea. That meant his body would move in random ways he couldn’t control or predict; his limbs would flail, fingers tap, head bob, teeth chatter. For Phil, the worst part was the absolute apathy his best friend seemed to have now, like he’d just accepted that he would be gone soon and didn’t care. He supposed maybe he really didn’t care, that was one of the psychological symptoms of this disease.

“Come on, shower time,” Phil grunted as he and Dan worked together to haul him onto his feet. With difficulty they got to the bathroom, and Phil sat him down on the stool placed in the shower basin. Dan just hummed to himself as Phil undressed him, the tune changing to different songs every few moments or so.

It was so surreal thought Phil as he turned on the water, making sure the temperature was alright. The person in front of him was Dan, but at the same time it was some complete stranger. He fluctuated between personalities heartbeat to heartbeat, from the person Phil hardly knew to the person he knew more than anyone else. One second he’d be a babbling, incoherent guy who seemed lost to the world, then he’d blink, and suddenly Phil would be looking into eyes that held every fond memory he’d ever known. Then he’d try to speak, lose his words, then lose himself again.

He absently rubbed suds into Dan’s skin, acting on muscle memory as his mind fell into the deep hole that had created itself in his head. He was only brought back to reality when he heard his name, and he looked up at Dan, whose face was cast downward with water dripping from his hair and down the bridge of his nose. “Hm?”

He looked over at Phil now, and his heart skipped a beat because that look, the dimmed glow in those eyes, it was Dan. One-hundred per cent Dan. “Are you going to be alright when I go?”

He swallowed, shrugging his shoulders and glancing at the bubbles that swirled into the drain. “I don’t know.”

The droplets pattered against the shower floor and steam spiraled into the air. Things stayed that way for a while, so Phil was startled when Dan slid himself off his stool onto the ground. “Come sit and talk with me? While I’m thinking clearly?”

With only a second of hesitation, Phil sat in front of him, ignoring the fact that his clothes and hair were getting soaked. It felt strange, but the warmth was also comforting. And so was the way Dan inched closer and slotted his bent knees between Phil’s own, reaching out but struggling to grab the thing he aimed to. So Phil met him halfway, holding his hand and watching his face. Above the sound of water splatting against the backs of his ears he heard humming, and he was afraid he’d lost him until he recognised the tune. _Interrupted by Fireworks_. A song Dan once said reminded him of Phil, and had once said was among his favourites.

“I love you, Phil,” he stated, his head tossing itself back before he settled it back in place. “I don’t…"

His fingers grasped desperately for the word, his eyebrows furrowing, and his fingertip rubbed against the shower wall before it sparked in his mind. “Feel. I don’t feel much anymore but I always feel that.”

“So do I,” Phil whispered, and that was that. The words he’d always wanted to say, the thing he’d always wanted to tell him… Too little too late. He was gone again after that, and after Phil got him out of the shower, redressed him, and put him back in bed he wondered if he’d even remember what had just happened.

He ended up throwing his drenched clothes directly into the rubbish. He knew that they were connected to a memory now, and he knew, that after Dan was gone, that memory would just be too painful to face.

* * *

 

The months that passed were nothing short of hell. Phil was so exhausted that he forgot his own birthday until Dan reminded him, he was afraid to sleep, and Dan had developed insomnia that kept him up for sometimes days at a time. Dan’s birthday may as well have been a goodbye ceremony, with friends and family all there to see a man who could barely talk for the last time.  It was 16 August that everything went completely wrong. One moment they were just watching Netflix on the sofa, and the next, Dan couldn’t breathe.

An ambulance came within a minute, and at the hospital Phil was told he’d need to be kept. He knew it would happen, he knew it’d been coming for some time now, but even still it felt like the shock of a lifetime. When he could finally see Dan again he was attached to tubes and monitors, like someone who was dying would usually be seen. But this wasn’t just someone, this was his Dan, and Phil couldn’t take it. Ashamed as he were, he left the room and spent hours wandering the hospital before he found the strength to go back.

Dan’s family stayed with Phil at the flat in the following months, and every day they knew it could possibly be his last. Soon Dan’s parents couldn’t cry anymore, and Phil saw the numbness he’d felt now for years in their eyes. It was a new kind of pain, now that everything was becoming so real. Once upon a time this disease had been a nightmare, but now it was the life Phil was living, and there was no way to escape that.

10 January, he woke up with a strange feeling in his chest. He couldn’t place it, couldn’t get rid of it, but after breakfast he went to the hospital like he had every day for the past five plus months and sat by Dan’s bed. But today was different, Phil felt it in his bones, and Dan must have to because he found strength to turn his head and stare at Phil.

It had to be today, something told him, and so Phil smiled gently and pulled a small box from his pocket. As he opened it Dan began to tear up, and he did himself as he put the ring on his hand. “Will you?”

And even though he could barely utter a word these days, Dan choked out something that resembled a yes. So there in the hospital room, with just themselves and Dan’s regular nurse, a pastor came and wed them, a dying boy and a broken lad who knew he would never find another soulmate like this, even if he did one day love again. But even then, even after that, the feeling in Phil’s chest didn’t go away.

Since he was technically family now, Phil was allowed to stay the night at the hospital. The lights remained on and made it too bright to sleep, so he watched Dan instead, holding his hand as he stared at the TV. Swallowing down his sadness, Phil took out his phone and took a picture of their entwined fingers, rings and all. Getting married was supposed to be happy, right?

“Post.” He jumped slightly as he heard the voice, looking up to see Dan watching him. He smiled a bit, even as weak as he was, and took a breath to say it again. “Post.”

Phil nodded, tears welling up in his eyes as he put the picture up on Instagram, Twitter and Facebook. It was the first thing he’d posted in about a year, and immediately got millions of views and a lot of public attention. But he didn’t really care about that. He looked up again as Dan’s finger tapped at his screen, and he saw a strange emotion mixed into the depths of his chocolate eyes. “They know…” He gestured sloppily to himself. “Love you.”

Phil choked on a laugh, watery and harsh in his throat, and nodded at his husband. My husband, he thought, a surge of joy sweeping through his body. It was such a foreign emotion that it startled him, and he squeezed Dan’s hand. To his surprise, Dan squeezed back. “I love you, too.”

The next day, Dan was gone, and the strange feeling in Phil’s chest disappeared. He thought he’d known pain from this experience, but he didn’t, not until then. On that day, on 11 January, he felt the kind of pain that would never fade away.

* * *

 

11 January, on the first anniversary of Dan’s death, Phil felt a very different emotion. Today was one of the most important days of Phil’s life.

“There’s so many people!” he exclaimed as he looked out over the masses.

“Of course there is!” Mrs. Howell said, chuckling at her son-in-law’s surprise. “You have millions of fans all over the world! What did you expect?”

He wasn’t sure, exactly. But the thousands of people gathered here today, all to support him and his cause, that certainly wasn’t it. With a deep breath, he walked out onto a stage alone for the first time. Cheers erupted from everywhere, and the smile on his face was so real that his cheeks hurt. Behind him the banner stood tall and proud: The Howell Project.

“Thank you all for being here!” he said into the microphone, and as he focused on individual people he noticed how many of them had bought shirts for the cause. At this rate, he’d raise a ton of money for the HDSA by the end of the year. “As you know, a year ago today I lost the most important person in my life…”

At the end of the day, he’d raised over one-hundred thousand pounds, all benefiting Huntington’s disease research. He went home happier than he’d been in months, and even though the flat was empty, it didn’t feel like it. It felt like home again.

He had a renewed strength in his bones, and maybe that was why he stopped on his way to his room. A whole year had passed and he hadn’t gone into the room, he hadn’t been able to, but today he thought he could. So he knocked on Dan’s door out of habit before opening it, taking a look around.

It immediately brought memories flooding back, and he smiled as he turned on the light. There were still random articles of clothing shoved in weird places that would be off-camera when filming, books long forgotten beneath strange knick-knacks and memory cards. The blankets were in slight disarray and his laptop was stored on the pillow. Which was strange, since Phil didn’t remember him using the laptop in his last few weeks, meaning he’d done so himself. But what would be important enough to struggle with that?

He laughed at what came up on the screen, a bittersweet ache in his chest as he sat down on the bed and looked at it, because to Dan _that_ had been important enough. The familiar YouTube layout was displayed on the monitor, a still frame of himself and Dan stuck in the window, three years younger. Biting his lip, he hit the spacebar and the video came to life.

"Best friend handshake," he heard himself say, and he couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face as he relived the day the video was filmed. Three years ago felt like an eternity now, so much had changed. Letting out a gentle exhale, he went to the search bar and looked for something different. He turned the light off before coming back to the bed, setting up the laptop so he could lie down and watch at the same time before clicking on his desired result.

"Bork."

"Borf!"

"Boof."

"Heck."

He spent the next hour or more rewatching the Phil is not on fire series, starting from eight, going backwards like a lifetime in repeat. By the time he heard himself say 'best friend handshake' once more, there were tears in his eyes and his throat felt tight. He followed Dan the whole time, watched his smile and his eyes and listened to his laugh. He was the most beautiful thing in the world, he thought as he watched Dan's image announce that Phil should do the Sexy End Screen Dance. Maybe he had died young because he had been born to be an angel.

"I feel special," said Dan, and Phil gave a watery laugh as tears slipped down his cheeks.

"You are," he whispered in unison with the video version of himself, wiping his eyes with the palm of his hand.

Listening to him felt like a dream, hearing him again. A good dream though. The best, even. Maybe that was why Phil drifted off before he finished watching all the videos, surrounded by the fading scent of black tea and expensive hair product. Just before he lost conscience entirely, a gentle grin took over his face and his hand balled in the material of Dan's duvet. He murmured the words he knew he'd hear next, the last words on his lips:

"This was the most fun I've ever had..."

**Author's Note:**

> Huntington's is a real disease that affects about 5-7 people per 100,000 in Western countries alone. As stated in the fic, there is no cure and very little treatment. If you'd like to help, support, learn about, or donate to efforts made against HD, visit hdsa.org. Thank you, and much love xx hoywfiction/Harmon


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